


More Than A Man

by Anonymous



Category: Horus Heresy - Various Authors
Genre: Familial Likeness, Family Dynamics, Gen, Introspection, Medical Procedures
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-31
Updated: 2019-12-31
Packaged: 2021-02-27 11:14:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,434
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22046206
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: While working on his first-born son's right-hand man, the Emperor muses on the similarities between father and son.
Kudos: 17
Collections: PB Anon Meme - 2019





	More Than A Man

**Author's Note:**

> This is totally inspired by the bit of fluff in the DA Codex that says Luther was the very first person from Caliban to undergo the transition to Astartes. Since _Descent of Angels_ has the Emperor arriving and then Calibanites transitioning, I couldn't help toying with the idea of the Emperor himself augmenting Luther, hence his superiority.

Lion el'Jonson. Lion, the son of the forest. Though it was not the name the Emperor would have chosen, he conceded it to be a fitting name.

How his heart had swelled when the missives came from his First Legion. His first-born son, the primogenitor of the legion he had used as his own, found at last. The prevalent worry of a parent, impossible to stifle in entirety even with the surety of his own genetic craft, had left him fearing the infant's lost in the stars or having crash-landed on some wholly inhospitable world.

Looking upon Caliban, death world though it was, brought back to his own youth. Terra was already barren at that time and he himself, though tens of thousands of years old at birth, no more than one whelp among trillions. He had been better from the start. Faster, stronger, smarter, imbued with the inherent knowledge that even if everyone else were to perish, he would survive. Indeed, even after the seas boiled and the majority of mountain ranges levelled, even after ninety percent of the population starved to death, still, he had survived.

The problem was, survival was insufficient. Just as in Lion's case, because there had been nothing on Terra that could kill him, so too had it been unnecessary for him to change. His physical form had been nearly three hundred years old, yet he could pass as a normal ten-year-old whelp, albeit uncommunicative to the point of mute.

From what he had gleaned from Lion's reminiscing (and after taking a peek into his son's memories), the same had held true for his son. For decades after his pod had crash-landed in the northmost sector of the continent, Lion had kept the form of a child, existing only to defend himself from attackers while scavenging for sustenance.

Both of them had been not only uncivilised, but outright feral. And yet, something in their genetic makeup must have accounted for this. Whether it was a nod to the prodigiously long lifespans they had been gifted with or a subtle understanding of their role in the wider galaxy, for some reason, their bodies had stayed in that infantile form, until the one destined to truly awaken them, to bring them to the forefront of civilisation and guide them to their purpose as leaders of mankind, until that fateful meeting, whenever it came to pass.

For him, he had been three hundred and fifty-four years old, wandering through the flatlands of Tiber, when Malcador -- four and twenty years old -- had crossed paths with him.

For Lion, he had been eight and sixty years old, still in the same northernmost stretch of forest, still spending his days hunting and gathering, when he had first met Luther.

Said man now lay outstretched on the operating table. Even asleep, he carried a knightly visage. Everything, from the structure of his bones to the layout of musculature, from his iterator's voice to his empathetic abilities, everything about him spoke of good breeding. This man carried with him the essence of savage nobility.

The bonds between king and king-maker were as clear as day. Not only for the Emperor but for the denizens of Caliban and the Astartes of the First Legion. As they took to the knee before their Primarch, so too was it natural for them to take to the knee before his right-hand man, mortal though he was.

The Emperor admitted a tinge of envy at Luther's natural charisma. Malcador, while capable of a fair amount of charm (certainly more than he himself was capable of affecting at the drop of a hat), would never be able to inspire such devotion, such fealty, from the legionaries. But was that not the point of making the Primarchs, Malcador had said, to plant the seeds of the future generation so that they could be supplanted and surpassed?

As he carefully continued his work, meandering between augmentation and outright replacement, he thought back to Lion's initial reaction to the procedure. His brow had furrowed and he had pursed his lips, quietly asking after the success rates.

Though it was not a surprise, it had nonetheless pleased the Emperor immensely to know that Lion already had someone he cared for, someone whose livelihood would not affect his own and yet was necessary all the same. It was the same concern he had felt for Malcador some millennia ago and it had carried him far. Eight thousand years ago, his hands had trembled as he performed a similar operation on the Sigillite. The other had been the strongest psyker on Terra then and had consequently refused the combatative enhancements which the Emperor was now gifting Luther, perhaps yet another reason he would never inspire true devotion from the Astartes.

His hands were steady now. Though it had been many years since he had performed this particular operation, he had nonetheless gone through with it so many times over the millennia it was now muscle memory. Cut along here, extract this, insert that, repartition here, fortify there, and so forth.

Slowly but surely, Luther was remade.

Upon completion of the procedure, the Emperor washed his hands while apothecaries from the First Legion hurried to mop up the blood and bring the patient out of his anesthetic-induced slumber.

The Emperor regarded his work with pride. Though Luther was of a shorter and slighter build than the average Astartes, the unique augmentations the Emperor had bestowed upon him would, with proper training, allow him to equal or even surpass their feats. Most importantly for Lion, it meant that Luther's natural lifespan had been extended indefinitely so that they could walk amongst the stars for the same amount of time.

In operating on Luther, the Emperor had been made privy to his inner thoughts in a way no one else could or ever would. He saw the man's myriad futures as well as the spots of darkness in his heart. In truth, seeing them filled him with relief, knowing that this man, so capable and noble, nonetheless harboured such evils. They were present in his own heart, in Malcador's, and in Lion's too, and the Emperor had learned after many hundreds of attempts, that it was best to leave said shadows be.

As if cognisant of the Master of Mankind's favourable judgment, Luther's eyes fluttered open. The Emperor went to his side, gently helping him to a seated position with one hand against the back of his neck.

The other was understandably disoriented in the first couple seconds, blinking rapidly as the bionics in his eyes kicked in and he saw the world in a whole new light. His gaze flickered to the Emperor and he relaxed, the events of the past day returning to him.

"My lord Emperor," Luther murmured. Even the Emperor could not fathom how it was possible for his voice to be so smooth, so rich, immediately after the surgery. "Truly, I am unworthy."

"You have proved yourself worthy many times over, good knight," the Emperor answered, pulling his hand away. He stepped back and gestured at the space between them. "Come. Try out your new form."

The Emperor watched as Luther obeyed, hopping down from the table and carefully flexing his freshly-modified limbs. There would be some tenderness and the majority of his muscles would be sore for weeks afterwards, but the immediate sense of strength was undeniable. Luther radiated joy but he was a knight through and through. His expression remained unchanged as he finished his inspection. When he was done, he turned to the Emperor and dropped to one knee.

"I pledge my life to the service of the Imperium a hundred times over," he swore. "In my rebirth, I cast my old titles and allegiances aside."

At once, Lion entered the room, slamming the door open and enveloping the space with his sheer force of presence.

"Luther," he said, going straight to the other, "Luther, how is it? How does it feel?"

"It is like I have died and come back to life," Luther answered, allowing himself to be pulled up. Lion shrugged his cape off and threw it over his shoulders before taking to one knee as his right-hand man had done.

"Father," his first-born son said, "Father, my gratitude to you is without equal."

The Emperor smiled, pulling his son to his feet. He looked upon the two of them and thought of himself and Malcador and felt at once a pang of longing for distant Terra.

"May it ever be so, my son," he answered. "May it ever be so."


End file.
